


Assorted Stories to Sort Us Out

by oneawkwardsilence (microphoneMessiah)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microphoneMessiah/pseuds/oneawkwardsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few drabbles I did a while back with a different word prompt for different themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assorted Stories to Sort Us Out

**01\. smile**

He’s a few shots past tipsy, all concepts of personal space and noise control shelved with empty bottles of  Jack Daniels. It’s left his face red, ruby red, and flushed with concentration as he tries to recall all the details of this movie he really, really liked ohmanpeteyouhavetoseeit. And Pete’s a little mesmerized by him and the way he stumbles through it.

(although, ‘and then there was this, uh, big fuckin’ explosion, right? buildings coming down and yeah’ isn’t exactly poetic genius)

But there’s something about the way his lips stretch, smooth softness pulled over sparkling white, dimples in his cheeks taking form noticeably, and smile lines miles wide littering his face like lines on a treasure map; that leaves him transfixed.

"Pete," he’s noticed Pete’s staring but he sounds more amused than creeped out. "Are you even listening?"

"Big, masked guy with a crowbar beating the shit out of this douchey guy?"

He blinks, surprised, before nodding. “The  _absolute_  crap out of him.”

**02\. tea bag**

He casually lifts the porcelain cup up to his lips, letting the hot tea pool against the front of his lips to warm them before actually drinking it. Next to him, Andy makes a comment about the health benefits of tea and probably another pull for veganism. On his other side, Joe is attempting to add tea to his current cup of sugar and cream, mostly just succeeding in making a cup of what looks more like wet sand than anything else.

And across from him is Patrick.

Patrick who watches the whole thing with interest in between glances at his phone.

Pete has a pretty good guess. And, yep. Patrick’s started another Q & A.

"Wentz," Andy cuts into his snooping with a frown. "Could you possibly not be on your phone for 2.5 seconds of your life? Or will it actually kill you?"

"It’d kill him dead!" Joe butts in.

And this whole two against one thing is pretty unfair; he hadn’t even started this.

"But, Patrick," he doesn’t get another moment to plead his case.

"Sorry, I was managing some business," and Patrick’s face is so small and apologetic that Pete already knows he’s lost the argument. And sure enough, he’s right because Andy and Joe go on to crack jokes about Pete being a phone-powered robot for the next 10 minutes. Pete shoots Patrick a dirty look and Patrick just shrugs before going back to his phone.

A few seconds later, Pete gets a text.

"done with q & a. q: will i make this up to you later? a:"

He stares at his phone for awhile before realizing that he’s meant to respond.

"a: tea time at ur place. ill tea bag u any day ;)"

**03\. sailor**

"Whose idea was it to film on a goddamn boat?" Pete groans, arms bracing the railing. He’s fighting to keep the bile in his throat down, but the rocking of the ship on the water is fighting dirty.

"Yours," Andy reminds him. "And we haven’t even left the fucking dock yet!"

Jerk, Pete thinks. Andy’s reclined on a foldable chair on the deck, reading a drumming magazine without a single care in the world. Pete kind of hates him right now.

"I thought flying was your big no-go thing," Patrick pipes up from behind him.

Pete would turn around, but he doesn’t trust that he won’t throw up on Patrick’s new shoes. “Flying, boats or really whatever is kind of shaky,” Pete takes a deep breath; counts to three. “If the thing’s a-rocking, I’ll be a…puking. I’ll be fucking puking everywhere.” There’s a soft pat on the back and it’s almost comforting, but Patrick is always like that.

"Do you need anything?"

"A new stomach? To be off this boat? Several layers of land beneath my feet? To see at least one hot, topless mermaid somewhere in this godforsaken ocean?"

Patrick laughs and the sound softens the rolling in Pete’s stomach, if only a little. “I don’t think I can help with any of those?”

"What if you just put on a mermaid tail and we film the whole thing with a green screen?"

"You forget," and now he can feel Patrick rolling his eyes. "You said a ‘hot’, topless mer _maid_ ; I’m not your guy.”

Pete considers dropping it, but his brain isn’t always the best at relaying things like that to his mouth so the next thing he says is: “I think you’re pretty hot.”

And then it’s silent for awhile, what feels like minutes turned into hours as he waits for a response.

What he gets is a laugh, not like the first, no, more nervous this time and  careful. “Very funny.”

It’s not, really. He means it. But, he hesitates. He’s on a sinking ship and the rising water is making it hard for him to talk.

There’s quiet foot steps, Patrick retreating and then, he’s alone.

a sailor lost at sea.

**04\. novice**

He should be asleep, letting sheep glide over fences in his head as he falls asleep to the ticking of the clocks in the kitchen. He should be because it’s late, past 3 in the morning and there are songs to rehearse tomorrow, people to text and ideas to chase.

But, as they, ‘ain’t no rest for the wicked.’

And he’s feeling wicked now, as he finally allows himself to hear the soft puffs of breath beside him. The soft crinkles of the blanket as the body beside him shifts, already comfortably within a spell of sleep. Probably dreaming about something sweet, something soft and light. Bright, wonderful and everything that he is.

God, Pete is going to  _hell_.

He can feel it, too. The heat still tingling on his skin from the grip fingertips and hot breath slipping into his pores. There was sweat, too, making red hair cling to a pale forehead and frame a red face. Flushed, panting as he traced his tongue down the expanse of flat stomach. As he bit playfully down at the fat that rested against hips, chuckling at the gasps. Gasps turning into moans of his name, moans of please, moans of oh, god as he finally let himself taste. His tongue wrapping around head until the mind was blown. Eyes gone black and shutting tightly while the mouth falls open, begging with perfect O’s like halos.

_Fuck._

The clock reads 4:35, he could kiss sleep, soul (and Patrick) goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged it mature for that last drabble and that last drabble is why I also tagged underage. These are mostly pretty harmless.


End file.
